


Iron Giants

by ximeria



Series: 2013 March Writing Exercises [3]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/pseuds/ximeria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no one there, nothing but empty, torn hallways, rooms without students, kitchens and studies without the freaks that should have been there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Iron Giants

**Author's Note:**

> 3rd ficlet written for the writing exercise of March 2013. Today's prompt was 'word of the day' a few days back on Webster's website:
> 
>  **behemoth**  
>  noun  
> : something of monstrous size, power, or appearance
> 
> As always, the aim is to write the story in one sitting, based on whatever's inspired me and keep it between 500 and 1,000 words.

The first attack of the sentinels, to their creators' surprise, does not quite achieve what they had hoped. It levels most of the school in Westchester, but when scanned, they find no bodies among the rubble; they find no signs of life.

There's no one there, nothing but empty, torn hallways, rooms without students, kitchens and studies without the freaks that should have been there.

The sentinel systems are not good enough to see everything though, so they miss the pop of displaced air and the scent of sulfur in the air, just at the edge of the forest encircling the once stately mansion.

Charles sighs, shoulders dropping as he lets himself sink into his wheelchair.

That Erik doesn't say 'I told you so', he very much appreciates. There's quite a bit of goodwill there, at least at the moment. If not for Erik and his... group, if not for Charles' own sister, the school wouldn't have been empty when the attack happened.

It doesn't tear at Charles' heartstrings because the building has been destroyed, it's just a physical thing. It tears at them because through the past decade, it's become a home and a sanctuary, a place of learning in more ways than one.

All the things it wasn't when Charles grew up there. All the things that these young mutants deserved. Safety, a place to put down their heads and rest without worries of anyone wanting to harm them.

Folding his hands in his lap, Charles wills them not to shake. He thinks for a moment that he's managed, but then the tell-tale rush of Erik taking off his helmet hits him, and he knows he's doing a poor job of concealing how shaken and sad he is.

 _'You can start over,'_ Erik pushes at him.

The man always was unfairly good at projecting - and Charles never had learned to ignore him.

Of course, had Charles ignored him, the school's broken hallways would have been painted red with blood today, instead of simply being... empty.

He sees the three sentinels towering over the ruin. They are huge and ugly, they are...

 _'A symbol of how much mankind fears us,'_ Erik finishes for him.

Charles bites his lower lip. He'll focus on Erik's words of starting over. He refuses to think that all humans will condone this. If they ever learn of it, of course.

 _'They'll build their warriors, and I'll tear them apart,'_ Erik says.

Charles can feel the anger and need to _do_ something. He reaches out. The monsters are mechanical through and through. Not suits, not controlled by sentient minds. And for the first time in ages, Charles allows himself to ride Erik's anger, feel it, understand it, _share_ it.

 _'We can't say for sure what they'll do if we destroy their creations,'_ Charles replies, letting both Azazel and Erik hear. _'They might build them stronger, better and we'll have to fight them again later.'_

_'And they won't do that anyway?'_

Erik has a point, Charles knows this. _'You're not strong enough to tear three of those monsters to pieces,'_ Charles replies.

 _'I am if you aid me,'_ Erik says, puts a hand on Charles shoulder.

He's taken his glove off and Charles tries not to jolt at the feel of skin to skin contact - which he hasn't had with Erik since the night before that fateful day on a Cuban beach.

Charles reaches up and takes Erik's hand, twines his conscious mind around Erik's; through it. Instead of simply balancing anger and joy, he gives Erik the benefit of his own ordered mind, his own hard-earned self control. He fuses it all together with what he finds in the both of them to be good, to be strong. Memories of being together, of training, of being on the road, in bed together. There's simple moments, shared smiles and stolen touches.

Then he infuses it all with their hopes for the future. He balances his own hopes and idealism with Erik's realism and dark worries, he finds the little pieces that when turned right, will mesh perfectly.

By any means necessary.

Erik is right. If they don't strike back right now, they'll still be hunted down. If they tear these... intruders apart, at least the government, or whoever sent them, will be warned that they will not find a weak group of freaks who will not stand their ground.

 _'For the safety of generations to come,_ Charles says, scarcely recognizing his own voice, barely capable of spotting where he ends and Erik begins.

 _'Perfection,'_ Erik whispers in his mind and three living statues stop where they are, their skin expanding; their metal surface cracking - whatever their cores are made of; fracturing and exploding into bits and pieces.

Charles doesn't really see. He feel the metal pieces, however, through Erik's awareness of it all.

"Let's go," Erik says quietly, sounding far more at peace than Charles has ever heard him be; save perhaps, inside their once shared bedroom.

Charles straightens in his seat. "Yes, we have much to do, and children to teach."

"And to protect," Erik ads as he holds on tight to Charles' hand, reaching out for Azazel with the other.

"And to protect," Charles agrees, his words hanging in the chill morning air, mingling with the smell of smoke, charred wood and sulfur.

The End


End file.
